


a bird flew by

by strawberryraindrops



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1984, M/M, Thanks, This is in the 80s, anyways i tried to make ricky bastard, both are really sad and need help, but be nice because i have too big of a heart, but hes too babey in my mind, feel free to criticize, i feel like i should mention, so here i am, that i do not ship and shane and ryan, they only slightly resemble the two, tin is good boy detective like usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22279993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryraindrops/pseuds/strawberryraindrops
Summary: After the death of a local police chief, Detective C.C. Tinsley is called to investigate. As he struggles to connect the dots, he meets a lonely but charming man, Ricky Godsworth. The pair begin to spend more and more time together, all while a huge secret looms over Ricky. Eventually, this secret explodes and both of the boys find their lives are in danger.
Relationships: Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	a bird flew by

“You asked to see me?” 

An older woman with stark black hair glanced up from her reading, “Ah, yes. Tinsley, I truly hate to disturb you at such a late hour, but I have come to my wit’s end and I am asking for your help. You remember my husband, Banjo, correct?” 

“How could I forget?” he replied solemnly. Tears began to prick at the edge of his eyes thinking of the man’s funeral and burial. The pair had been close—Banjo, so dear to Tinsley with his jolly personality and a great sense of humor, had been a sort of father figure to the man. They had worked together on many cases, from petty robberies to murder, spending hours into the night with one another with the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke filling the room. When the two were tired of looking over and analyzing the same boring documents, hefty laughter could be heard beyond the door and into the empty police station. All that had ended when Banjo McClintlock was found with a bullet through the back of his head on a melancholy Thursday morning, slumped over his mahogany desk with countless papers scattered everywhere and a bottle of whiskey still half-full, not far from where his cold hand lie. 

“I have been... well, hesitant to bring this subject up with you. I know how close you were with him. But I trust you more than anyone else for this. I want to hire you to privately investigate my husband’s death. Will you do this for me, Tinsley?” 

“I... yes. Yes, I will.” 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Water splashes down the drain, blood running alongside it. 

“May I get you a coffee, sir?” 

“God! Next time, Mayor, I please ask of you to knock before you come barging in so suddenly. But yes, two creams and one sugar, please.” 

A young man stands over a stainless-steel sink, quietly washing the blood from a white dress shirt. He clenches his jaw tight, the sickly-sweet smell of blood making him feel squeamish. At this point, he should be used to it. This isn’t the first he has killed. 

“Ricky,” A young woman gently calls across from the room. 

“Yeah?” The response. 

“Are you feeling okay? I’m worried about you. Seriously,” she replies quietly, slowly making her way over to him. She lays a dainty hand on his shoulder and he can’t help but flinch. 

“I’m okay, Augusta, I promise.” 

“You know you don’t have to do this for her, right?” Her voice is hardly a whisper and she leans in close, for you truly never know who could be listening. 

“I know.” 

He continues washing the blood away, away. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Tinsley hasn’t left his office in nineteen hours— he has hardly slept, hardly eaten. He thinks no one has noticed, but Horsely has been paying attention. Her heart only continues to ache, both for her husband and now for Tinsley. Unsurprisingly, Tinsley receives a call. He picks up. 

“Tinsley! I’m pleased that you picked up. I hope you haven’t been working too hard,” but she knows he has. She hardly pauses, not allowing him the chance to reply, “Look, I want you to come with me tomorrow night to a Christmas party at one of my dearest friend’s house. Take a bit of time off— just for one night, I promise. Will you consider it?” 

He considers. “I could use that right now, in all honesty.” 

“Great! I’ll fax you the address. Dress nice. I’ll pick you up at eight, alright?” 

He agrees and hangs up. A deep sigh. Of exhaustion. Of frustration. Of desolation. His heart is purely empty once again. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

“Mamma, not so tight!” 

“Aww, mio passeroto! You look so darling. Come, the guests should be arriving soon.” 

His mother leaves the room, the door slightly propped open. He glares at himself in the mirror, eyes narrowing slightly. He turns away quickly, gritting his teeth. Ricardo Goldsworth has always been considered an attractive man. He comes from a wealthy family. Girls would kill for the chance to be with him. But he’s never quite taken an interest. He’s concerned with family, and right now, swamped with hundreds of secrets that could put his and his family’s life at danger. 

The family had made their money from mob activity in the 20s. They were an important figure during the Prohibition and very well respected. His family is known for murdering innocent people. He never knew that the lust for bloodshed could run in his own blood. The thought makes him sick. A quick trip into the bathroom and a loosening of his tie and he swiftly leaves the room behind him. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

The car picks him up three minutes before eight. Horsely was smoking a dimly lit cigarette when he opened the passenger side door. His knees bashed against the console and he tutted, a sharp sound from behind is teeth. His companion let out a weak chuckle. 

“Sorry, Tinsley. Forgot about your height.” She laughed again, more heartily this time. He looked at her in the darkness and genuinely smiled for the first time in a long time. Maybe this night will be okay. Maybe it’ll be okay. 

Soft jazz played through the radio. Tinsley closed his eyes and let the gentle rumbling of the car allowed him to relax. Suddenly, he was jerked forward, his seatbelt holding him back from hitting the dashboard. 

“Sorry! I wasn’t paying enough attention and the light turned red faster than I thought it would. Don’t worry, we didn’t run it though.” 

He took short breaths, the seatbelt tightening against him, his whole body stiffening. 

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t see the car coming!” He screamed out. The cries of his wife echoed in his head. He turned around and saw the bloodied head of his five-year-old daughter. Blood rushed in his ears and his leg ached so badly that he cried out in pain. His wife’s sobs slowly faded away and soon enough he couldn’t hear her breathing anymore. He laid his head against the cracked window, feeling blood slowly drip down from his forehead. The police sirens faded into background noise as he felt his consciousness slowly drift away from him. 

“Tinsley? Are you okay?” 

He whipped his head to the side to meet the concerned eyes of Holly Horsley. They were stopped at a red light. He let out a shaky breath and slowly nodded. They continued on. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Ricky bounced around people at the party. He drank a few too many glasses of red wine. But he was happy, his worries not entirely consuming him for once. He chatted with many people; most he barely knew. Women asked him to dance and he politely refused, but slyly led them on for the fun of it. 

He glanced around and saw his mother talking to a woman and taller man. He recognized the woman as Holly Horsely but did not know the man standing awkwardly next to her. Ricky made his way over through the crowd and was greeted kindly by his mother from a few feet away. 

“Ricardo! Come talk with us, love,” She called. He exchanged glances with the man. He was tall, with a head full of unkept mousey brown hair. He looked shaken, nervous. Ricky decided to stand by him. 

“Mr. Goldsworth, it really is a pleasure. This is my friend, Charles C. Tinsley. I don’t think the two of you have met before,” Horsley said coolly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Ricky stated and reached out his hand to Tinsley. Tinsley took it and muttered a greeting back. Ricky clenched his jaw in annoyance and let go of the other man’s hand. 

“He seems a bit rude, Mama,” Ricky muttered to Lucía in Italian. She nodded in agreement and they left it at that. 

After a while of chatting, Ricky offered to get them drinks. Tinsley asked to come with him, and he reluctantly agreed. Together, they walked to the kitchen. 

“So, when did you first come to Los Angeles?” Ricky asked the other man. 

“I moved here about three years ago to work as a private investigator,” Tinsley replied. 

Ricky felt his heartbeat speed up. His palms began to sweat, and he cleared his throat. He’s just a private investigator. He doesn’t have any knowledge of you being involved in crime. Especially murder. 

“Oh, um, that’s really cool! How long have you known Horsley?” He replied. Change the subject. 

“Her and McClintlock really took me in when I first moved here. I worked with the pair a lot, both at Holly’s law firm and at the police station with Banjo. I’ve been close to them for a long time.” 

Ricky looks up and makes eye contact with him. Tinsley has light brown eyes with flecks of gold. A pointed nose. Strong jaw. A light stubble. Tinsley looked back at him. He looked away quickly, face reddening, and focused on pouring the drinks. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

“Mio passeroto, come sit down. I’ve been wanting to speak with you.” A heavy Italian accent. A gentle voice laced with hostility. Kind to one, cold to another. 

Ricky stands in the gloomy doorway, his delicate fingers gently resting again the frame of the door. Soft candlelight illuminates the papers on his mother’s desk. He swallows. 

“Well, what are you waiting for, Ricardo? Sit down.” A short response. A warning, perhaps. He takes a shaky breath and sits down swiftly in the empty chair, facing her. 

“Yes, mamma?” 

“As you know, once again, Senator Fahr has been reelected for state senate. Seven consecutive terms in a row. He has run unopposed for three terms now. The one who helped push for your father’s conviction if you recall. I have a proposition.” She smiles. Sly, conniving, heartless. He lets out the air he hadn’t been aware he was holding inside. A quick nod. Stop picking at your nails. 

“Fran will help you with this one, dearest. It’s all planned out. He will be arriving in Los Angeles tomorrow night at precisely nine pm sharp. Of course, he will have a few guards with him, but it’s nothing you two can’t handle,” Calculating black eyes, just like her son. She glances up at him and the light reflects off the gold frames of her glasses. He meets her gaze. Poker face. Nod in agreement. If you speak, you know the tears will start to flow. Hold back. Hold back. Hold back. Stand up. Perfect posture. Tighten your tie. Walkout confidently. Close the door behind you. Lean your back against the wall and let the tears come. Wipe your eyes. You need a drink. Something to distract yourself. Car keys. Mayor lets you out. Neon signs of a corner bar. One shot. Two shot. Three. Glance over to your right. A familiar tall figure and messy brown hair. Maybe tonight doesn’t have to have a bad ending. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Nightmares terrorized him all night. The cries and pleas for help from his wife. The picture of his daughter ingrained in his memory forever, never to leave him. Waking up in a cold sweat. It’s 1 am and he’s had three sleepless nights this week. He won’t let tonight carry on the same as before— waking abruptly, screaming and crying, sweat beading down his forehead. He’ll go for a drink. Be out with the people. Contemplate Horsley’s case. So he grabs his keys and heads out. 

A few blocks and he’s at a corner bar on Sunset Blvd. Tiki-Ti. The neon lights nearly blind him, but at least he won’t be alone tonight. The bartender will keep him company. 

Just a Coors Light. Slow drinker. Of course, it takes a lot to get him buzzed, but he guesses that’s not what he’s truly looking for tonight. Alcohol doesn’t mend every wound. He’s learned that the hard way. 

A few comments to a woman a few seats to the right of him. A laugh or two. She’s outspoken, unafraid to speak her mind, he can tell. Her blonde hair is cut into a short bob. She chews her gum noisily. He doesn’t mind. 

He looks to his left. A man with dark brown hair and tanned skin and beady black eyes are staring right at him. His eyes are puffy and red. He leans, slumped over, head leaning against the table, his arms acting as a makeshift pillow. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

Four empty shot glasses are turned over beside him. The bartender passes by and brings another one. Neither of the two men speak. What is there to say? 

Silence. Awkward silence. Ricky takes his gaze away for a minute and takes another shot. He squeezes his eyes shut and gently shakes his head. Tinsley only watches. 

“Are you okay?” Tinsley speaks quietly, his voice low and deep. Breaking the barrier. Trying. For both of them. 

“Do you want an honest answer or are you asking because you feel like you have to?” 

“Honest.” 

“Not really.” 

“You care to share with the class?” 

A small chuckle. One filled with fear. One that breaks Tinsley’s heart. 

“I don’t think you’d understand.” 

“Try me.” 

Tinsley stands up and grabs his coat. He moves over a few seats and plops down right beside Ricky. Ricky looks up at him, still leaning his head against the table. 

“I love my mom, but she worries me sometimes. Ever since my dad’s death, I...” He cuts off. Inhales, holds it, exhales. 

“I’m sorry.” Barely a whisper. 

Silence again, but this time it’s a bit different. Ricky let out a shaky exhale and sits up, leaning his head against the other man’s shoulder. Tinsley lays a hand on his back and lightly scratches his back with short nails. He glances down and sees a tear fall from Ricky’s cheek. 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

Ricky looks up at him, meeting his gaze. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” 

Two hours of honest and open conversation and many tears later, Ricky is sleeping on the ugliest maroon couch in Tinsley’s cluttered living room that smells strongly of cologne and cigarette smoke. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Ricky wakes early in the morning, a headache already starting to torment him. He slowly sits up, yawning, and glances down to the coffee table. Papers and manila folders and highlighters and a way-too-expensive fountain pen. Curiosity gets the best of him. He picks up a folder and opens it, ears focusing on any sounds from the bedroom down a hall past the bathroom. 

A newspaper article. “Los Angeles Police Chief Found Dead in Office”. He inhales sharply, quickly scanning the other documents in the folder. And in the next. And the next. Murders of law enforcement. The local chief of police, a private investigator, a lead detective, a medical examiner. His victims. His mother’s crimes. His crimes. He hears the door creak and throws the folders back onto the table, just as much of a mess as before. He won’t notice. He won’t notice. 

Quick conversation. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Coffee, two creams one sugar. Coffee, black. Nausea from the anxiety fills his stomach and a lump in his throat barely allows him to utter out a thank you. Get dressed. Look nice. Car keys and leave. Close the door of apartment 517 behind him. Go home and forget about it. Tonight’s an important night, remember? 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Screams. Police cars. Ambulance. Pronounced dead at 9:12 pm. Two bullet holes through the chest. Fran is out on the field, blending into all the chaos. Ricky is on the run, getting as far away from the scene as he can. He throws up in an alleyway. And has nowhere to go. His mother will want to congratulate him, share glasses of champagne. To him, there’s nothing to celebrate. Fran says that a tall man with messy hair was on the scene. Corner bar on Sunset. Walk a bit farther. Five-story apartment building. Number 517. 

A gentle knock on the door, so soft it could hardly be heard. No answer. He glances around the hallway. A welcome mat on the carpeted floor in front of the door. Is he really that predictable? 

He lifts the mat and there’s a key. A soft chuckle. He lets himself in. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

“Do you think the murder of Senator Fahr is connected to the other law enforcement murders?” Horsley is smoking another cigarette. 

“I believe so. But who has the motive to kill only law enforcement and people in positions of governmental power?” 

“I don’t know, Tinsley. I truly don’t know.” 

At midnight, he stumbles into his dark apartment. A feeling washes over him. Fear, but of what? He pauses his steps, listening to the silence. The overwhelming feeling of dread crashes over him like a wave. 

“Tinsley?” A soft whisper of a too familiar voice. He looks over to where it came from. He turns on the lamp on the side table. A pleading look from pitch-black eyes. 

“What are you doing here, Ricky?” A gentleness that he doesn’t deserve. A barely audible whisper. 

“I did something really, really bad and I don’t know who else to turn to.” 

Another night at Tinsley’s apartment, but this time he gets an upgrade from the couch. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

The pair are inseparable. They spend almost every day together. A New Year’s party. Constant visits to the nearby cafés. Hell, they even did a 1000-piece puzzle together. Walks through the park, chatting about work and family, at least what’s left of it. Talking about Ricky’s hometown— Fontanella, Italy. He’s only visited twice. Tinsley talks about his parents, his friends in Chicago. He doesn’t mention the accident. 

And Lucía Goldsworth takes notice of her son’s constant absence from the house. She ponders it for a few weeks. Fran is sent out to watch. And she returns with valuable information. And Lucy’s sugarcoated exterior finally breaks. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Ricky comes home at around 3 am. Another late night at Sunset. Another late night with him, sharing stories and drinking and maybe a little more. The Mayor greets him at the door and takes his coat, flashing a genuine smile, his eyes squinting together tight. He informs Ricky that his mother wishes to speak with him in her office. He stares at the Mayor and the Mayor meets his gaze. Sympathy. Pity, almost. Ricky quickly walks away. 

He opens the heavy door and she is sitting there, waiting for him. Fran is standing in the corner behind his mother. He takes a deep breath. Control your breathing. Focus. 

“Ah, mio passeroto. We need to have a little chat if you don’t mind sitting down.” There is a sharp iciness to her voice, even though it is masked in sweetness. He glances over to Fran. Her face is like a stone, her jaw clenched. He looks back at his mother. 

I have noticed that you have been spending time with a particular... law-abiding friend. A private investigator, in fact. Care to tell?” 

“I...” He’s cut off. 

“Oh, you don’t need to. Don’t worry, Fran here has been watching you with him. Haven’t you, Fran?” 

“Yes, madame.” Her voice tells Ricky nothing. Especially not her feeling toward the situation. Only a slight French accent, a sign of her childhood in the French countryside. 

“Ricardo, I want you to stay away from him. Do you hear me?” 

Shaky exhale. 

“I won’t.” 

Silence. She was taken off guard. But always, always prepared. 

“Okay. I want you out of my sight... Room. Now.” 

He shakily stands up to leave. As he turns away, he hears, “You know I do this because I love you, mio passeroto?” 

“No, Mamma. I don’t know that.” He slams the door behind him. 

Fran stands in patient waiting. Lucía stares at the door, her face unreadable. 

“Fran—,” It’s Lucy’s turn to be cut off. 

“I won’t kill the man for you this time, Madame.” 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Tinsley lazily sat on his couch, long limbs sprawled out, reading “A Boy’s Own Story” by Edmund White. A glass of red wine sat on his side table, a cigarette lightly burning in between his fingers. He takes a drag and lets out a puff of smoke. Something catches his eye from the window, and he pauses. He stands up and walks to the window, looking out into the city. 

The floor creaks behind him. Dread. He whips his head around and meets the eyes of a stranger. He looks down and the man is holding a knife. He lunges for Tinsley. 

Tinsley slams his fist into the man’s jawbone. He isn’t a fighter, but he can be if needed. Luckily, he’s got the build to help. He shakes his bloody knuckles and winces in pain. The man doesn’t hesitate and lands a blow in Tinsley’s gut. He gasps and throws another punch, harder this time. He falls to the ground, knife clattering loudly against the hardwood. He takes a few short breaths and assesses the situation. There is a stranger passed out on his living room floor. This stranger tried to kill him. He defended himself. He grabs the phone and calls Ricky. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

“Hey, what’s up?” A late-night call from Tinsley isn’t an odd occurrence. 

“Um... I need your help. Some guy just tried to kill me. I’m in my apartment.” 

His heart drops. “What?” 

“I don’t know what happened. I was reading and then there’s a guy behind me with a knife in his hand. I knocked him out, but I honestly don’t know what to do. Who would try to kill me, for God’s sake?!” 

Ricky knows who. 

Silence. 

“Are you there...?” 

“I have a secret that I have been hiding from you.” A whisper into the phone. Heavy breathing against the receiver. 

“I don’t... What?” 

Shuffling. Silence. 

“I’ve killed people... A lot of people. I know what case you’re working on. It’s me. I did it.” Barely audible. Tinsley must push the phone tight to his ear to even be able to hear him. 

“Huh?” 

“My mom. The police arrested my dad for espionage. I don’t think he was innocent, despite what my mom tells me. He was sentenced to death. That’s how he died. My mom’s never been the same since. She’s so angry all the time, even though she tries to act normal. She tells me to kill the people she thinks is responsible for my dad’s death. Me and Fran. I killed Banjo. I didn’t want to. I—” He’s speaking fast, quiet. Not fast enough. 

“You what?” Slow. Laced with bitterness. Dangerous. 

“I—” 

“I never should have trusted you.” 

“It wasn’t my fault! I— She made me! I had no choice, plea—” 

Click. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

“Ricky?” He’s so used to that gentle voice. He covers his head with his bedsheet. 

“Don’t hide from me. I want to talk to you.” Augusta silently walks over to him and sits on the feather bed. Ricky doesn’t respond. 

“What happened?” Gentleness. Comfort. 

He takes the cover off his head. His eyes are swollen and his pillow wet. She casts him a sympathetic glance. 

“I told him the truth.” His voice is raspy from screaming. From crying. She softly places a hand on his head, running her fingers through his hair. Ricky closes his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering. 

“You did the right thing.” 

“I didn’t want to do it. He’s so mad at me, August. I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracks. 

She pets him until he falls into a light sleep. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Tinsley awoke to a knock on his door. 

“Ricky, go away! I don’t want to see you right now.” He buried his face in his hands, sighing, rubbing away the sleepiness in his eyes. 

“It’s not Ricky,” a female’s voice calls from outside the hallway. 

He stands up quickly, rushing to unlock the door. 

“I am so, so sorry about that. I had an argument with someone earlier and I—” He stopped dead in his tracks. A pair of pitch-black eyes and long dark brown hair to accompany them. 

“You’re a Goldsworth.” Hostility. Arrogance. 

“I know I am. Look, it’s about Ricky. Please just listen.” Pleading. 

“What makes you think that I’d want to hear his name let alone talk about him?” Tinsley spits back at her. He can feel his blood beginning to boil. But he soon enough found himself letting her in anyway. 

“I have a lot of explaining to do.” And she begins her tale. From her family’s mob history during the Prohibition, to her father’s conviction, to her mother’s unbridled rage, to Ricky’s depression. And slowly, it began to sink in. He found himself nodding, feeling pity towards the whole situation. He listened, and he learned. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Ricky drinks again tonight. The smell of wine and cigarettes lingers on his lips. He lays sprawled out of the table in his room, groaning about every ache and pain he feels. Needless to say, he groans a lot. 

And he thinks. No matter how much he drinks, he can’t forget. The bitter smell of almonds, the piercing noise on a gunshot, Tinsley’s cold hostility over the phone. He contemplates. What would Tinsley want him to do? What does Ricardo Goldsworth, “mio passeroto”, deserves for his sins? After hours of thought, he comes to a conclusion. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Tinsley lays in his bed, unable to fall asleep again. It’s been almost a week since his fight with Ricky, and Augusta has made him feel regretful for his bitter words. 

He hears keys jingle and the door to his apartment slowly creaks open. He doesn’t get up, even though his heart is racing. He lays there in a sleep-deprived haze and wonders if he’s dreaming or not. He waits. Nothing comes. 

He awakes from a restless sleep and the sun is beginning to climb up into the morning sky. His previously folded blanket in the living room is left strewn on the couch. And his files for the Goldsworth case are gone. 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

Tinsley hasn’t heard from Ricky in two weeks. Tinsley hasn’t heard from Augusta in one week. The Goldsworths have been missing from his life. Until he sees a familiar man on the news. 

He gapes at the TV screen. “Los Angeles Man Arrested for Several Murders, Including Senator Fahr.” He grabs his keys and wallet and speeds to the police station. 

“Where’s Ricky Goldsworth?!” He demands the nearest person as soon as he storms through the station doors. 

“Detective Tinsley! It’s a pleasure to see you,” chirps a friendly receptionist. 

“Goldsworth. Where is Goldsworth?” 

“The serial killer?” She questions. 

“Yes! How much clearer could I be? That’s my damn case!” 

“He’s down the hall, room 7. Interrogation room 7.” 

He speeds walk down the hallway. Slamming open the interrogation door, he meets only the vulnerable face of Ricky sitting in a chair at a table alone, handcuffed. He sits, curled up in his chair, knees against his chest. Slowly, the anger dissipates from Tinsley all at once. His pleading eyes stare up at him, cheeks and eyes red. His fingernails picked at and bloody. Tinsley softly shuts the door behind him. 

“What are you doing here, Ricky?” 

“I turned myself in. I confessed. I took your files. I’m sorry.” His eyes were downcast. 

“You don’t have to do this. Why are you doing this? I— I never would have turned you in, Ricky. Never.” 

Their eyes met. And they both broke down. They talked a bit, but mostly sat in silence, purely enjoying each other’s company, fingers laced together. 

“Tinsley?” Whisper. 

“Yeah?” Whisper back. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

—————————————————————————————————————— 

It’s been four years since Ricardo Goldsworth was sentenced to death for the murder of 7 people, including beloved state senator of California and Los Angeles police chief. Ricky faced many death threats from average citizens across the United States, but ultimately the electric chair is what killed him. 

Tinsley moved to San Fransisco and never quite felt the same after that one year. He was found dead in his apartment from a painkiller overdose. Once again, alone and petrified. No one left to remember him.


End file.
